CHAPTER XVII

A GENTLEMAN IN HIDING

Oh, sweetly fall the April days!
My love was made of frost and light,
Of light to warm and frost to blight
The sweet, strange April of her ways.
Eyes like a dream of changing skies,
And every frown and blush I prize.
With cloud and flush the spring comes
in,
With frown and blush maids’ loves
begin;
For love is rare like April days.

—­L. Frank Tooker.

Mrs. Claiborne excused herself shortly, and Shirley,
her father and the Ambassador talked to the accompaniment
of the shower that drove in great sheets against the
house. Shirley was wholly uncomfortable over the
turn of affairs. The Ambassador would not leave
until the storm abated, and meanwhile Armitage must
remain where he was. If by any chance he should
be discovered in the house no ordinary excuses would
explain away his presence, and as she pondered the
matter, it was Armitage’s plight—­his
injuries and the dangers that beset him—­that
was uppermost in her mind. The embarrassment
that lay in the affair for herself if Armitage should
be found concealed in the house troubled her little.
Her heart beat wildly as she realized this; and the
look in his eyes and the quick pain that twitched
his face at the door haunted her.

The two men were talking of the new order of things
in Vienna.

“The trouble is,” said the Ambassador,
“that Austria-Hungary is not a nation, but what
Metternich called Italy—­a geographical expression.
Where there are so many loose ends a strong grasp is
necessary to hold them together.”

“Precisely. And a man of character and
spirit could topple down the card-house to-morrow,
pick out what he liked, and create for himself a new
edifice—­and a stronger one. I speak
frankly. Von Stroebel is out of the way; the
new Emperor-king is a weakling, and if he should die
to-night or to-morrow—­”

The Ambassador lifted his hands and snapped his fingers.

“Yes; after him, what?”

“After him his scoundrelly cousin Francis; and
then a stronger than Von Stroebel might easily fail
to hold the disjecta membra of the Empire together.”

“But there are shadows on the screen,”
remarked Judge Claiborne. “There was Karl—­the
mad prince.”

“Humph! There was some red blood in him;
but he was impossible; he had a taint of democracy,
treason, rebellion.”

Judge Claiborne laughed.

“I don’t like the combination of terms.
If treason and rebellion are synonyms of democracy,
we Americans are in danger.”

“No; you are a miracle—­that is the
only explanation,” replied Marhof.

“But a man like Karl—­what if he were
to reappear in the world! A little democracy
might solve your problem.”